Hiding Behind An Open Door
by kurgaya
Summary: IchiHitsu - drabble - Tōshirō was an organised person, he knew that, and he liked nothing to be out of place, he also knew that. So why was that little cupboard door always left open?


Note: Well, considering this is meant to be a drabble, I think I did pretty well. It's not the cute and fluffy idea that I set out to achieve, but I like it.

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><p><strong>Door<strong>

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><p>There was a small cupboard in their house, his and Tōshirō's, which was small and dusty and always appeared to be open, not wide – never wide – but open just a little bit, so much so that the younger occupant of the house barely noticed it. He didn't know why it was always open, and honestly he didn't care, but an open cupboard was weird, in a sense.<p>

It took Ichigo a while to notice that, and the other peculiar thing that went along with it – like a pair of socks almost.

This, wasn't surprising, as there was no reason for him to notice Tōshirō's strange behaviour – to be honest, it might not even be strange; maybe just a habit that the white haired male had developed, Ichigo knew that _he_ had developed many-a habits over the years.

But he didn't know why, or when or how, but one day it struck him as odd.

This day, believe it or not, was one of those rare days that Ichigo had actually opened that cupboard door fully. He couldn't remember why he had opened it, and he couldn't remember what was inside, or what he had taken out or put in, if he had done either of those actions at all, but there was one thing he remembered about the incident.

He had shut the door – probably by mistake (for it always seemed to be open). He must have forgotten to leave it just that tiny bit open, for whatever for he didn't know.

Except, when he walked past later that evening, carrying a tray towered with cakes and biscuits and two cups of hot chocolate, towards the living room where his husband was currently curled up by the open fire, his bright brown eyes noticed that the door wasn't shut anymore.

Not wide – never wide – but open.

At first he thought nothing of it. Why would he? It was a little unused cupboard that sat in the hallway between their living room and kitchen collecting dust and remaining miserable and out of place. But something nagged Ichigo about it. Tōshirō was an organised person, he knew that, and he liked nothing to be out of place, he also knew that. So why was that little cupboard door always left open?

Realizing that the hot chocolate was getting cold he shook the thoughts from his head and plodded over to his waiting husband.

The next time he noticed was but a few days later. Tōshirō had asked him to put something in there on his way into the kitchen (ok, so maybe the cupboard wasn't as unused as he had first thought), and when he returned a couple of minutes later with the pair of scissors he had been searching for, he saw that the door was, again, open.

He could have sworn he had shut it – out of habit, or probably by mistake again, he had been in a hurry to get the scissors.

The nagging in his head returned and Ichigo frowned, fixing the cupboard with a curious stare. Now, either the door had opened itself, or Tōshirō was purposely opening it. The most logical reason was obviously the latter, but he had been in the kitchen for about a minute; why had his husband gone out of his way to get up from his seat and open the cupboard door?

Tōshirō called him and he startled, scurrying into the living room to complete the task at hand.

But it was the next time, and most certainly not the last time, which revealed something to him.

He had, admittedly, been angry that day. Something to do with the Captain-Commander had just brushed him the wrong way, and his whole day had just plummeted like a stone to water, the huge ripples created affecting the people around him.

He hadn't meant to snap at Tōshirō, really, but alas he was irritated and was not in the mood to do anything that didn't go his way. They had been tidying up, well, Tōshirō had been – Ichigo had been fuming and mumbling on the sofa with his arms and legs crossed and a scowl plastered on his face – and Tōshirō had asked him to put something away – ironically, whatever the object had been belonged to that dusty little cupboard in the hallway – and he had yelled in response, deeming himself too angry to get off of his arse to do the simple job himself.

He hated the way Tōshirō had flinched at his tone, but the boy stood without a word – without a single glance in his husband's direction – and had left the living room, leaving a guilty and even more irritated Ichigo behind.

Five minutes past slowly, and it took Ichigo the whole of that time to realize Tōshirō hadn't come back. He swore colourfully under his breath and ran a hand through his vibrant hair, standing from his seat and making his way out after his husband, fully intent in apologising and giving the man a hug. He didn't get very far with that goal, mind you, for he found his husband not ranting silently away in any of the other rooms, but knelt by the cupboard in the hallway, his pale forehead rested up against the smooth wood of the door, his teal eyes slipped shut.

The object that had needed to be put away was lying untouched on the floor beside his leg.

The door was open, wide enough for Tōshirō to lean against it.

Ichigo faltered, not quite sure what to make of the scene. He stood there for only a moment, a confused never-ending moment, before stepping forward and calling with concern, "Tōshirō?"

One clearly upset teal eye opened for him, and Ichigo found himself on the floor beside his husband in a second, wrapping his arms around Tōshirō's small – shaking – body and breathing in the scent of his snow-kissed hair. "I'm sorry," he whispered, regretting his previous words. "Did I hurt you?"

A slow shake of the head was the reply he got. "I'm ok," mumbled Tōshirō, however not looking at his beloved or sounding particularly confident with his answer.

Ichigo squeezed his husband tighter. "Tell me," he said, worry clawing at his heart. "Tell me what's wrong. It's something to do with that cupboard isn't it? And your strange behaviour?"

There was a soft laugh. "You noticed that?"

"Not at first," he admitted, wishing that Tōshirō would look at him. "But I…" he trailed off, picking up his sentence elsewhere. "What is it with this cupboard? Why do you keep opening the door?"

"I…" Tōshirō paused, as if unsure what to say next. Ichigo waited patiently, silent, and listened out for any indication that his lover was going to start again. "I keep it open so that whatever's inside can get out."

Ichigo wasn't sure what to say. He frowned, glancing over at the cupboard that they were talking about. Other than the odd useless piece of junk, there was _nothing_ in there; nothing that could, as Tōshirō put it, 'get out'. So what on earth was – ?

"I know there's nothing living in there," mumbled Tōshirō with a sigh. "I _know that_, I do, it's just…"

Ichigo resisted the urge to bite his lip. "Just…?"

"I was locked in a cupboard like that once," Tōshirō said quietly, and alarm bells started to wail in Ichigo's head. A 'huff' escaped thin lips, and Tōshirō shook his head as if he were amused by the memory. "It happened a long time before I became a shinigami – the people of the Rukongai were never kind to me; the other children got plenty of fun out of teasing and bullying me. I didn't know why they did it – I had never done anything to deserve it, that I could remember anyway."

"Tōshirō…"

The male in question ignored his husband's words, but gratefully sunk into the warm embrace that he was providing as he continued with his tale. "One day a group of boys decided it would be _funny_ to drag me to the edge of the district and lock me in a cupboard in one of the old abandoned houses. I didn't like small dark spaces; I never have and never will. At first they hung around and laughed while I panicked, they were more than amused with my distress, but eventually they left – bored with their game – and I was _stuck_ in that cupboard, and nobody else knew where I was."

There was a pause here. Tōshirō collected himself. Ichigo whispered soothing words in his ear.

"I yelled. I screamed. I cried. I _begged_. I was _trapped_ in that tiny, dark, damp_, horrible space_, and nobody came for me for _three days. _I was a _wreck_ when Granny opened the door – I remember the look on her face; she was so angry and worried and sad… Like you, right now…"

He fell silent there, and Ichigo kissed him on the forehead, gently, as if he would break under the slightest touch. "I should go and give those people a piece of my mind," he hissed, stroking Tōshirō's hair and wondering what other types of torment the Rukongai civilians had put the tenth division taicho through.

Tōshirō laid a hand upon one of Ichigo's. "Don't bother," he whispered. "It's not worth it."

"The hell it's not worth it – _you_ are most definitely worth it," Ichigo answered fiercely, and Tōshirō found himself smiling at the protective rise in the other's spiritual energy.

"I'm glad you think that," he said, completely and utterly relaxing in his husband's warmth.

Ichigo kissed him again, this time with a much more meaningful purpose. "I will always think that; don't you ever think otherwise Tōshirō, I love you so so much, and you are everything to me."

There was a happy sighed breathed out against him.

"I love you too, Ichigo, I love you too."


End file.
